


Night Class | Makoto Tachibana x Reader

by tsurakofuku



Category: Free!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lemon, Multiple Sex Positions, One Shot, PWP, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurakofuku/pseuds/tsurakofuku
Summary: Twitter request! ☆ An empty classroom, a stressful day, a relationship long past overdue moving to the next stage. Can you convince Makoto that there’s no time like the present? *I DO NOT OWN MAKOTO TACHIBANA OR FREE!* Minors DNI.
Relationships: Tachibana Makoto & Reader, Tachibana Makoto/Original Female Character(s), Tachibana Makoto/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	Night Class | Makoto Tachibana x Reader

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter request to take some charge with Makoto and bring your relationship to the next level! Reminder that from Dive to the Future, they have entered university, and you are the lucky classmate/ girlfriend of Makoto Tachibana. I don’t usually have condoms in my work but it felt appropriate for this. Enjoy!
> 
> Recommended playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5T9h68I7jV5BM3ytFrZkWM?si=1e9e8fae74794cac

Makoto Tachibana has been staring at you all day, and you’ve finally had enough. It went from a little embarrassing, to flustering, to downright frustrating to look over the curve of the lecture hall and see those moss-green eyes mooning over you, to approach him after class and slip your arm through his, and have him do… _absolutely nothing_ in response. To look up over coffee and a sandwich crammed into a twenty minute meal, to see his wistful eyes, and then feel his hand go limp as a fish when you grab it, cheeks flaring red and gaze falling. He’s a good boyfriend. He’s a good guy. He’s a _nice_ guy. But he’s… _too_ nice.

He’s a good boyfriend, he waits for you after class, even the classes you don’t have together. His texts about any disruptions swimming might have with plans together are prompt and apologetic. Even if he’s inexperienced in the ways of women, his instincts are good. He’s wading in the gentle waters of your budding relationship.

He needs a push. 

At the end of your evening class, the gaze burning into you is a thick fog, overbearing and heavy even when you aren’t looking back. It’s not uncomfortable, but as you stare stubbornly ahead, furiously taking notes and throwing yourself into the lecture with an eagerness the highest-ranked students would be alarmed by, it irritates you. 

_How much longer is this going to go on?_

Class is dismissed before you know it, most students around you fleeing into the night with rumbling stomachs, your professor dismissing you and taking his leave as well. You, in contrast, move at a glacial pace. Makoto’s headed up the aisle, and out of your periphery as you bend down to pick up your bag, you watch him awkwardly stop, letting classmates out before him. You straighten up, slowly dropping items inside one at a time. The intent gaze remains on you.

Finally, as the last chattering stragglers slam the door behind them, you hear Makoto’s footsteps come echoing down the silent hall to your desk. You push back your chair and drop your bag on the curved table in front of you and finish packing up.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice warm and full of concern.

His hand brushes against your back as he rests against the back of your chair. You ignore him.

“Hey. Are you upset about something?”

Clueless.

You don’t realize you said it out loud until you stand, turning to meet his eyes, bright and hurt. 

_Understandably so._ You sigh, pushing yourself back to sit on the table, and shake your head, trying to start over. How miserable would it be, to have your first fight as a couple before your first time?

He flexes his fingers against the chair that separates you and you lean to him, kicking your feet onto the seat and gently prying his grip from the cold metal. In your hands, his grip is soft and fingers tense.

“Makoto. Why have you been staring at me all day?” you ask.

He blinks, blinks again, and looks down. “I haven’t,” he says, pointedly speaking to the floor. His bulking frame, trapped between the curving lecture hall tables, is too large even for the empty room.

“I know you were,” you say. You gently run your thumb against the back of his knuckles, dancing through the dips of bone back and forth until he looks up again. His cheeks flush red. “But you’re… I think you’re misunderstanding. I’m not upset. I’m not angry you were staring at me.”

Your words, soft and low, buzz into the heavy air of the empty classroom.

“You’re so nice. You’re so polite. I know you’re a decent guy,” you continue, your eyes now intent on his. It’s your turn to lock in, to urge him not to look away from you. “But you see, women like it when a man eyes them up, especially when that man is supposed to be their boyfriend. And that means he’s expected to do more than stare.”

The tables are turned. The first rush of excitement, the thrill you felt this morning when you caught him staring at you – you can see it now. Makoto is flustered. His fingers twitch in your hold, suddenly sweaty against yours. The wheels are turning faster and faster.

But he’s still unmoving, still not quite getting it, so you lean forward and close the distance to kiss him, letting go of his hands and throwing your arms around his neck to pull him forward. He’s caught by surprise, suddenly empty hands clamping down on your thighs for balance as he leans down over the chair into you. 

The first kiss you give is desperate with parted lips and a slightly forced “ _oh_ ” breathing into him when his mouth comes on yours. His response comes almost too late, just barely, but his lips curve back and he breathes into you. It’s still a little slow. You urge your own pace down to match his. His neck is warm under your clasped hands, and you bend your elbows, drawing him closer.

“ _Oh…_ ”

Whose tongue moved first? Makoto’s catching up now, his own moans slipping loudly over yours, as he kisses you with almost intoxicated thirst. He has an ever-present tinge of chlorine against his skin, and it drifts into your open mouth as your lips move together. His hands press over you, thumbs digging into your thighs, pushing and rolling the soft, sensitive skin. You gasp into his mouth, feeling almost like bruising even over the fabric of your pants. It deepens the kiss. 

“That’s a good start,” you manage through the haze, unlocking your hands and tracing them to his shoulders to give yourself leverage to break the kiss and lean back. A small spark of pride dances through you as you look at him. Makoto’s eyes are half-lidded now, lips wet with your kisses, face still flushed. He blinks, panting heavily. After a moment, you realize you’re breathing the same. 

“We…uh, there could be a night class,” he says, stammering over his words, hands betraying you as they push higher up your legs.

“Don’t think so,” you say with completely unfounded confidence. 

Makoto laughs, a little nervously. “You’re… uh, a little impatient. Isn’t your place -” 

“I’ve _been_ impatient all day,” you say, a flash of mild irritation shooting down your spine. You pause, roll your shoulders back with a shiver, and continue, a little gentler, “ _no,_ Makoto, I want it… _now_.”

“Here?” He sounds uneasy, and his hands hesitate. 

There’s a delicious excitement in trying to seduce your own lover, and it ripples through you, pushing you on. You kick the chair between you aside. It makes him let go of your thighs, so you adjust your own grip, tugging down his arms. Your strength is ineffective against his, but Makoto follows the motions, letting you coax him towards you. Your hands move down still, knotting fingers with his again, and crane your neck back as he towers over you. 

“Come on,” you whisper, staring up at him. “You were staring at me all day. Tell me what you were thinking.”

He takes a shaky, sheepish breath in. His hands wrap around your waist, almost rocking you back, and your legs spread to take his standing body between them. 

“What I was thinking,” Makoto repeats. His voice slips lower. 

Your knees lift, slowly, as he speaks, drawing him in. The words are there. You’re just luring them out of him. 

“I was thinking,” you say, trailing your arms back up to lace around his neck, “what it would be like, to have you _take me_. In the cafeteria, in the hallways, in the classroom.”

He swallows, sweat glistening on his Adam’s apple. Above you, his pupils dilate. You tense your thigh muscles. 

“Right here,” you say, the words escaping you so soft and dry you almost want to clear your throat and try again, but Makoto leans down and takes your lips in his before you can. His fingers snake across your waist, tightening across your back, fumbling for the hem of your shirt. It forces you to move, raise your arms, interrupting the kiss as he pulls it over you. You reach for his in this interrupted moment, not caring where it lands when you pull it over his head and throw it somewhere into the aisles beyond you. 

You’ve been the dominant one, you’ve had to be, but the earnest energy you’ve felt on you all day is now pushing intensely through his hands as they travel over your body. He palms your waist, inching up to your bra, one hand coming to the back of your head to support the growing fervency of his kisses. He’s leaning you so far back your stomach lurches, vertigo flipping through you as your body scrambles for support before falling off the table.

“Makoto – wait,” you force out, and there’s a creaking of the table, a dense crash to the ground. Pens rattle across the lecture hall as they roll from your upturned bag. 

“There,” he pants into your mouth, pushing you back further. Your elbows bend back, and you find the smooth wood of the table free behind you. Makoto’s hand pushes down, hard and warm over your stomach to the waistband of your pants. His wrist angles into yours as he scoops for the fastening, and your back arches at the touch against bare skin. You shift, kicking your shoes off clumsily. As he pauses to do the same, you lift your leg up onto the table and rocking your knee into him as you both turn.

He’s not moving tentatively now, kneeling over you on the table without hesitancy. His eyelids are heavy when you meet his gaze now and his skin is soft on you as his hands grab against your pants in fistfuls of fabric, tugging your pants down. You moan softly as you shift your hips and move your other foot up to the other side of him once more once he moves closer up. 

“Eager now,” you say, so quietly he must not have heard else he would have frozen up once more. You sink back, letting your arms stretch over your head onto the sleek table. The curve of the lecture hall desks seems endless under your fingers behind you, blocked before you only by Makoto’s muscular build, imposing and beautiful even below the dim fluorescents. 

He is hesitating though, as his hands come back up over your body. His finger slips below the band of your panties, thumb touching cold now right against your pussy as he curves down over the fabric. You can feel your thighs tremble.

“Makoto,” you breathe, loud enough for him to hear this time, and move your hand down. You scoop below the waistband and let your fingers dance right under his as you press into yourself. It doesn’t feel as good to touch yourself, it never reaches the same angle if you’re moving your own fingers, and you beg with wordless motions for him to do it instead. But Makoto’s eyes are spellbound, wide at the dancing of your knuckles under the fabric of your panties, and you let a few moans slip again as you pull your hand out, trying to lure him back. 

It works, and his hands tighten as he tugs the panties to the side, keeping your legs on either part of him. You take hold of them, freeing his grasp even as the band sharply pulls into your hips from the back. He lowers himself, taking hold of the back of your thighs, and leaning into them, begins to lower his face to you.

“Oh,” you start, then a gasping, “ _oh!_ ” because for his inexperience, it feels surprisingly good. It’s exploratory at first, his tongue practicing, moving in almost the same patterns he watched you swirl over your folds with your fingers, but then he dips right into your slit and you cry out again. The strokes come long, up and down, but fast, never lingering for long, and it begins to build somewhere below your stomach. It’s feeding you friction and making you long for more, your hips shifting and grinding into the table. 

The side of his face knocks into your fist as the panties in your increasingly sweaty grasp slips. You gasp, tugging so hard to knot it around your fingers the band almost cuts into your skin, giving him more space to spread you with his tongue and fingers, coming up between your legs to push at your entrance. One finger enters, curling slowly and pushing up. With your free hand, you grab at his olive brown hair, feeling it bristle against your palm as you push restlessly into his scalp. 

“ _Makoto!_ ”

Your legs almost kick, feet arched and pushing into his back, when he finds your clit. His tongue dances up, over, right around that sweet sensitive spot, and then his lips close and he sucks. It’s a light pressure, but enough to send lightning up through you. Your body bucks from the table.

Makoto stops, breaking free and leaning his head back. You look down, gently cradling the back of his head, his mouth glistening with you as his fingers move thoughtlessly, pushing up further and further as another enters you. Your body convulses helplessly in response.

“Don’t,” you say, heavy, feeling yourself grow wetter around his fingers, “don’t stop.”

The strength of your words convinces him, and he lets your hand push him back down, his mouth returning. It’s a hotter rush now, and you can feel yourself pulse, deep inside you as warmth spreads burning over your face. It’s almost disjointed, the way that the throbbing below your belly is out of time with your heartbeat, which in turn is practically echoing in your ears. His tongue is still moving, not with any more refined of a technique, but it’s faster, just as his fingers reach deeper and deeper with every thrust. Your hand is numb against your thigh as you tug your panties away, a seam against your back snapping, and then another.

“Makoto…”

Makoto might have said something in response, something light and murmuring, because you feel the thickness of his breath vibrate over you as he moves between your legs. You moan, louder than you should have, and it echoes up into the classroom, the lights right over your eyes burning and bright. You fidget, your body growing restless and hot, every part of you sweaty as you writhe against the table.

“I’m – I’m going – I’m gonna -”

The words sound dramatic as they spill from you, but they’re all you can manage as a warning. Your feet crash to the table, knees tightening and leaning into his back muscles, thighs clenching so tight that you couldn’t wiggle your fingers if you had wanted to flex your grip. Makoto understands, or at least he does when you come, legs clenching over his head as he furiously, sloppily eats you out, licking it away as it ripples hot through your body. The sweat on you feels cold, and you shiver, moaning again and again as the orgasm ebbs. 

It aches, both between your legs and the muscles of your thighs themselves, as Makoto pulls away. He raises himself up on trembling arms, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, and you let go of your panties, fingers shaking and streaked with multicolored indentation. You close your eyes and breathe shakily, letting both hands fall to your stomach, right below your belly button.

“Wow,” Makoto breathes.

“My line,” you say, eyes still closed a moment more before blinking open, the lights swimming blindingly above you. You blink again, furiously adjusting as you sit up. Makoto’s hunched over shakily, hair wild in his face, the haze in his eyes still heavy. 

You want to keep it there.

“My line,” you repeat, hauling yourself up, “and my turn.”

It hurts your knees to stumble forward across the smooth table, but you do so with arms outstretched. You touch Makoto’s chest and push gently, urging himself on his back. He stays up on his elbows, much as you did, as you fumble with his pants. You’re must more direct than he was, though, pulling his boxers down with them. 

Makoto’s leg muscles tense under your hands, and you look up at him. He looks anxiously to the closed lecture hall doors, a familiar worry creasing his brow.

“If no one’s come in yet, we’re fine, there isn’t a class this hour,” you say, again brazen without proof. But it isn’t fair that he’s fully naked and you’re still in bra and panties, even if the tugged fabric slopes off your hips and rubs damp and uncomfortably between your thighs as you shift against the table. 

_It’s fine_.

It’s your first time giving him a blow job, the thought crosses your mind as you rest on one forearm, reaching for his cock with the other. It’s already hard and curving upward. You can feel Makoto’s eyes back on you, and you pause, reaching back to loll your tongue out and lick your palm. You let your eyes flicker up to Makoto, licking your palm again. 

He’s breathing out of his mouth, a loud shuddering breath that must release the last of his anxieties when you wrap your hand around his shaft, running your hand down and back up with a slick ease. “ _Oh_ ,” he says, groaning up into the echoing classroom. 

You stroke again, a little slower as your saliva dries under the movement of your fingers, and adjust your stance to lean your elbow forward and sink down, touching your lips to the head of his cock as your grip comes down to the base. He gasps again as you graze his balls, and you shift your hand, letting your fingers flutter and stroke against them. 

But your mouth is where your focus is. You close your lips over his cock and let your tongue move right over the sensitive tip, swirling over, and again, and a third time. Makoto’s growing chorus of groans, your name slipping into the senseless noise, is enough to encourage you further in the teasing. You hollow your cheeks, sucking gently before releasing, pulling off and taking a breathing respite as your hand moves up again to gather your saliva and lubricate more, endless strokes down even when your lips have released. 

Makoto gasps, trailing off into something almost verbal. 

You let out a pleased, muffled moan of your own as you drop your head back down and take his cock in your mouth again, working your way further down. Your mouth chases your fingers almost down to his balls before moving back up again. You begin to bob faster and faster, straining your eyes up to look at him. His eyes are wide, fixed firmly on you, never leaving you even in the pauses when you blink and break contact. Makoto’s hair is still unruly over his eyes, mouth agape and breath catching uneven in his throat. It’s a pleasing reaction.

You’re taking almost all of him now, your eyes rolling and squeezing shut as you continue, forcing yourself further down. You’re rubbing against him faster too, letting your fingers dance over his balls, dragging saliva down when your slurping mouth almost reaches his base. 

“ _Oh…_ ”

He’s panting, so close to completely whining, as you work over his cock. Your head moves faster, your hand strokes even more earnestly, even as the motions of him against the back of your throat almost make you gag with every bob up and down. Tears stream unbidden down your cheeks. He’s hard and hot and full in your mouth, and you can tell, without him needing to form the words, that he’s close.

Even as you run your tongue over and over again across the raised vein that would be his undoing, you relax your mouth and begin to slow your movements. Your lips close over his shaft and you slowly pull back, giving his head one last swirl as you push yourself up off his cock. 

Makoto lets your name slide once more; a whine almost touched with desperation.

“Sorry,” you say lowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“No,” Makoto gasps out. His fingers are tense against the table. “It’s… okay.”

He’s trembling to hold himself together. 

“Do me a favor,” you say, rocking back on your heels and looking at the contents of your bag scattered across the ground. “Dig in that pocket, right there.

Makoto reaches with ease, one long muscular arm flexing under the lights, and he fishes out a small foil package. He looks at you, eyes and mouth perfectly round in sweet naiveté. 

“I’d rather be prepared than not,” you say, reaching forward to take it from his fingers. He frowns, sitting fully up to break the seal himself.

“And I’m not helpless,” Makoto shoots back. Your cheeks burn, but the flash of embarrassment fades as he lets out a shuddering breath, sliding the condom over himself, and he looks _so hot_ peeking through his tousled olive hair up at you, sitting up between his legs. He gives himself a few soft strokes, keeping his eyes locked on you.

Far from frustrating now.

You lean forward onto your hands, shifting your stance until you’re straddling him, and give him a sweet, soft kiss on the lips. “Lean back,” you say. “Relax.”

Makoto leans back on one elbow, letting go of his cock as you guide your hand over his, pulling your panties to the side with the other once more as you rock forward. He moves his hand up to your waist, thumb resting warm against your stomach as he wraps his fingers around your back. His grip is warm and sturdy, trying to urge you forward.

But you move slowly, pressing his cock against you and starting to rock on your knees, moving him to your entrance as he watches you with bated breath. You look down, your eyes even and matching his, grinding yourself almost on him without taking him inside.

Makoto breathes your name, flexes his fingers on you. His thumb pushes up, almost to the bottom of your ribs, then down again when it makes you gasp as well. 

“Please,” he says, and when he asks so sweetly, this good, well-mannered man, you can’t tease him anymore. Your fingers stroke up over the rubber of the condom, feeling the warmth of his cock even through the barrier, and lower your hips. 

“Oh,” you gasp, and maybe Makoto gasps too, as you sink lower and lower, slowly. You swallow, trying to relax your body, but your shoulders are shaking as you take him in. His cock stretches you, heavy right behind your stomach and pushing to your core with every centimeter further you move. Makoto squeezes his hand on you, gently now, and you let out a sigh.

“Wow,” he breathes, the word barely coherent, and he follows it with a loud groan as you begin to move. You circle your hips, and the last furrow of his brow melts away as you begin to move over him. Your thighs are already trembling.

Makoto settles on his back, lifting his other hand to come to your hip. He isn’t moving you or forcing you, and you begin moving up and down, keeping control as you fuck him. Your hips drop down faster now, and you sigh, arching your back and placing your hands over his, then, restlessly, down to his hips to push against his body as you move on his cock. Rocking back and forth, your clit rubs against him, and you begin moaning more and more as the electric jolts dance through your body again.

His grip is coming stronger now, the hand on your hip curving down over your ass and the one on your waist riding higher and higher against the jostling of your body, coming up and forcing under your bra strap. “Should have.. taken this off,” Makoto gasps out, but his thumb rolls up over your nipple as he grabs at your chest. You whimper, unable to respond as he rubs over you.

Your hands slide down to the wood, bracing yourself and bouncing harder. As firmly bolted into the floor the curved table is, your sliding motions against the wood almost feel like you’re shaking it. Your thighs ache with the speed of your movements, but with every motion, Makoto’s cock comes closer and closer to your cervix and makes you shiver. 

By the time the soreness in your body almost overtakes the pleasure, Makoto’s becoming a more active participant, his hands flexing hungrily on you. He squeezes your ass and you moan his name loudly. His thumb scoops under your panties, snapping them against your hip. 

“Touch me,” you say, breathless.

Makoto moves his hand, his thumb dancing over the bare skin, moving closer and closer to your swollen pussy. He curls his fingers, the flat back positioned over your clit, and your voice rises louder than it should as your body grinds against them every time you press down. You arch your back and close your eyes.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

It ricochets through the classroom. 

You drive your body harder, hips jerking and pleasure shooting through you. Every time your hips drop, his hand rubs into you. You force your eyes open, so aware of the fact that your mouth is hanging open, panting dumbly, wordlessly. But your hips are stuttering, slowing, your knees aching as they push into the table.

“Hey,” Makoto says eventually as your pace slows, and he moves his hands slowly back to your waist. His grip is stronger this time, and it almost lifts you by the strength of his pressure down into your hips. But it pushes you down, directly, onto his cock, and all you can do in respond is cry out.

He chokes out a “ _fuck_ ” too, and you squeeze your inner thighs together with a shuddering sigh. His cock pushing directly up into you, and your eyes roll back lightly. 

Makoto shifts underneath you, groaning as he sits up, and urges you off his cock. “Let me,” he whispers, an urgent sincerity in his voice. 

He isn’t made of glass, you don’t mean to treat him like it, but you shift back on the desk gingerly, keeping your hands outstretched and reaching for him. He swings his legs over the edge of the table, putting his hands against the edge. His biceps flex as he gasps, catching his breath, before turning his face to you.

“Lean over the table,” he says. His voice is raw and low.

You scramble off, wincing slightly as your body adjusts away from the hard surface, turning around and leaning over the table you’ve worked at all term, your eyes falling to the same podium, same whiteboard, the same view without Makoto’s frame in the crowded periphery. 

His eyes are on you though, his breath heavy in your ear as he tackles your bra clasp, and you in turn finally push your panties down. You’re just as naked now, and as you shake your bra off your arms and plant your palms into the table, a thrill of anxiety goes through you.

There _better_ not be a night class. _Please._

Your breath is coming uneven, out of time with Makoto’s, and it catches in your throat when you feel the smooth condom-covered head of his cock come up against your leg.

“Maybe,” he starts, and you automatically lean over before he has to finish, pushing your hands across to the other side and digging your elbows into the wood. 

He puts his hand back on your waist, this time curving to your back, thumb dipping in the sweaty hollow of your spine as he pushes you forward. Your knees, still weak, almost buckle as he adjusts his stance behind you. He’s aiming for your entrance again, and you shift your hips, feeling the heat of the tip of his cock smear your own slick across your skin.

When he enters you again, you almost cry out this time at how quickly he pushes forward. Your hands grasp at the edge of the table, and the sound of pleasure becomes his name – “ _Makoto, Makoto, Makoto-_ ”

His response is unintelligible in response, your name mixing with euphoric sighs as his hand on your back begins to move, almost caressing over you. You drop your head down between your shoulders and moan again, closing your eyes as his thrusts pick up speed, something stronger under his own control. These strokes are long, leaving your muscles too weak to rock your hips back in response. Your feet curl into the floor, ankles turning in, toes flexing, as the pleasure rocks completely through you. All you can give are mindless moans. 

You lean forward, letting your body fall into the table. Makoto chases you down, hand pushing you hard and forearm angling into your lower back as you go. The pressure in your core builds with the thrusts of his cock trapping your body between his and the table. He kisses the back of your neck, clumsy across your shoulders, and you can hear him now – 

“ _So pretty, you’re so pretty, you’re so fucking pretty -_ ”

You shudder and moan, trying to twist your neck and meet his eyes, but he’s leaning back again, the words slipping away into grunts and slaps of skin on skin as he fucks you right back. The verbal groans echoing through the room are rough, emphasizing the force of his cock in you. He slides his hand back down, rippling over your skin, and his second hand comes to the other side of your hip.

“ _Oh!_ ”

Makoto’s fingers are digging into your skin, stronger than he must know, because your cries turn sharper, louder, even as his thrusts angle higher up, reaching deeper into you and making that hot core behind your stomach almost feel like melting. Your voice rises again. 

“I’m going to -”

“I’m – ” Makoto manages at the same time you do, and you can feel him, even through the condom, beginning to twitch inside you. Your knees shake, thighs dancing back and forth in response. His hands push into you, and you moan. Makoto grunts above you as he thrusts erratically, one last time, and then stilling. He comes, throbbing, and the intensity of his grip and movements make your own body lose strength. You go limp, your core hot and vibrating with the force of his orgasm.

It’s not enough to make you come too, and you sigh slightly in frustration as he pulls out of you, gently releasing his grip on you. You rub your thighs together, anxiously chasing it, but the feeling is already gone, ebbing away slowly and dragging the remnants through your body.

It’s okay. There’ll be time enough to teach him another day.

You let go of the edge of the desk with one hand, reaching for him as you gather your breath, and he lets go to grab you back. This time, he’s smoothing his fingers over your shaking knuckles, slowly moving over every inch of your hand as you pull yourself together. You blink, anchoring yourself with the familiar sights of the classroom, before standing up to turn back and look at the best part.

Makoto’s eyes are on you again, but tender, his breathing growing even, his cheeks still flushed and olive hair disheveled around his face. You squeeze his hand, soft beneath you, running your fingers over his in return.

“See,” you say after a few moments of serene pause, “what some actual _action_ can get you?”

You didn’t really mean to be snarky, or even particularly witty, but Makoto laughs. It’s bright, familiar, bouncing off the empty walls. With his free hand, he rubs the back of his head, ruffling his hair further. 

“I do, I do,” he says, the words a sheepish mumble. He pauses, running his hand over yours. 

He looks down. You remember, suddenly, that he has a used condom on, and that you’re both naked in this lecture hall as the evening crawls on. You still have no idea if there could be one last class, or a scheduled cleaning crew.

 _Fuck._ You glance down, tracking the scattered clothes, the contents of your upturned bag, the condom wrapper.

The two of you should get out of here.

“But next time – ” Makoto pauses, clearing his throat. “Well, maybe next time, we can make it to a real bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I don’t usually write fluff or fluff-adjacent pieces, so I did my best to make this sweet, I hope it doesn’t come off as corny. Also, I realize there are so many water puns. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop them. Let me know what you think! :) ~ Tsura ** SEE MY CARRD IN MY PROFILE FOR INFORMATION ABOUT MAKING REQUESTS **


End file.
